Speculative Impromptu
by SSBB.Swords
Summary: A collection of one-shots in the genre of speculative fiction. Alternate universes in every sense of the term. [Ch. 05 AU: Sociopathy and thought reform] "Let go of me. I want nothing to do with you. I hate you." It was amazing what a huge sum of money could buy nowadays. -Yaoi, Slash: Ike/Marth-
1. Transfer

_**Author's Notes:**__ I just learned of an umbrella term called "speculative fiction," which includes genres such as science fiction, fantasy, utopian and dystopian fiction, which I love, but am not creative enough to write. Thus begins this writing experiment._

_**Warnings: **__Badly formulated fantastical fanfiction of the yaoi, shounen-ai, slash, whatever-you-call-it nature. Cursing. Un-beta'd._

_**Pairing(s): **__IkeMarth._

_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own Super Smash Brothers._

_**Summary: **__A collection of one-shots in the genre of speculative fiction. Alternative universes in every sense of the term. –Yaoi, Slash: Ike/Marth-_

_**Chapter Inspiration: **__Angels and demons. He knew what he was doing when he walked in the dark. And if he ran into a demon... well, the worst had already happened, so he just did as he pleased. _

* * *

Speculative Impromptu

_01. Transfer_

By SSBBSwords

* * *

He was cold. And getting colder.

"You're kidding, right?"

He whirled around, every fiber in him bristled for defense.

"Seriously." The voice softened to something less threatening the closer the other got to him.

It wasn't so much that his eyes were adjusting to the pitch-blackness as it was that the guy was now directly in front of him, staring him down.

"Dumbass!" The demon finally dropped all pretenses that diluted typically curse-full speech.

With but well-placed sprayed fingertips against his torso and a nanosecond of (not entirely unwelcomed) magnetism, he was none-too-gently thrust into the light.

"I—"

The other met his monosyllabic sound with a hiss of contempt. Actually, it was more a warning, but anyone or anything tracking their movements could easily be mistaken.

He stood in the lit area and glanced up and down the street casually. The street lamps glowed strong enough to illuminate the entire area, minus the alley that he previously was rather ungraciously shoved out of. He took a step back toward where all pedestrians would avoid at this time of night and received another angry growl.

He cast no shadows, despite the numerous sources of artificial lighting around him. Perhaps that was due to his own production of light.

Oppositely, that guy absorbed it and therefore lived solely in areas without photons.

Sometimes he wondered what had knocked him in the head that got him in this situation.

The other huffed in annoyance and, venturing into the gray, gestured to the ground, unceremoniously dropping into a sit at the corner of the brick wall. 75% black, 25% other.

"I thought angels are supposed to be perfect rule-followers," the guy grumbled, arranging long legs before him and rocking in place to get comfortable. Arms draped over propped-up knees in a nonchalant, but equally defeated pose.

He more gracefully descended into a seated position, just around the same corner, 75% white, 25% other, knowing that they, though opposite forces, could create a right angle. "That's funny. What else have you heard?"

"Never mind."

He didn't need to turn the corner to know the other was scowling.

The other didn't need to turn to know he was smiling.

"Honestly, what—"

"Demons are notorious liars, aren't they?" He didn't miss a beat, and his smile turned into a smirk unbefitting his status.

"_Fuck!_" came the other's exasperated response, before continuing in a tone suggesting a smidgen less antagonism, "Idiotic move. Standing there like a dying beacon."

His first instinct was to shrug. He knew his stroll in the dark would not be missed by the demons that wandered it. Instead, he just lifted his gaze toward the stars. They were just sources of energy burning out amidst a vacuum, no? Emitted energy affecting something; something being affected by absorbing said energy. How existential.

"You're thinking of stars, aren't you?"

He chuckled toward the sky. "So you do listen to my rambling."

"Someone has to," the other muttered, though not unkindly.

They stayed silent, catching strains of rhythmic chirping that made for unobtrusive background noise.

"Don't disappear."

Surprised, he glanced to the side to see the other's clenched fist in his peripheral vision. For once, he had no witty comeback. Any type of reassurance would be false, and they both knew it.

"No wonder the elders pass on such ridiculous myths," he said after another long moment. He supposed there was another hour before the sun would rise and bathe this side of the world in light, erasing the other's much needed cover.

There was a sigh, and then a rather pained question. "One last time?"

He closed his eyes, relieved that this time he did not have to ask. What a rare opportunity. "Aren't you hedonistic today," he murmured rhetorically, wondering if the guy would be offended and retract the request. Whatever. He would do it. They both knew he would.

"I feel particularly inclined to celebrate my heritage on some days and not others," the other replied dryly, setting one hand palm-up on the ground beside his hip.

He stayed still, enjoying the anticipation as much as he was locked in a state of perpetual frustration. Unless he had a nonexistence wish. He didn't, but seeing as wish fulfillment in his case would mean the end of his existence…

Well, there you had it.

With measured breath, he lifted his closest hand and brought it above the other's, hovering there at midpoint.

"I wish—"

"—I know." He cut the other off, because it took everything in him to not throw himself against something that would consume him, while also breaking the other apart.

"I suppose it's just damn ironic that it feels great."

"One day," he declared firmly, but just as quietly, "I may just want it to end like this."

He lowered his hand, and together, their palms connected.

The rush always started at the center of his chest. His head pounded, and his breathing turned into gasps as if he was attempting to climb a mountain with no atmosphere. The sensation should have been warming, additive in the most beneficial way… had it been with anything that also released energy, as opposed to—

-they really shouldn't have interlaced their fingers. But at this point, they had gone through enough _'shouldn't's_ that there was no point in pretending to be safe.

His palm felt icy, and the chill only spread up his arm and ached like he was about to lose it.

It was expansive. Addictive. He shivered into it, losing his mind to it, knowing that it would be gone soon.

In the din of his euphoria, he heard the other clearly moan, and he felt the grip tighten reflexively before loosening. He, like the other, was logically restraining the urge to yank their two bodies together. He dimmed, as the other brightened.

They separated with no less the force required to reverse gravitational pull.

As expected.

Immediately, the other rolled away from the corner and into a stand.

"_SHIT,"_ the demon spat in a disgusted, but too obviously desperate tone, almost lunging at him again to re-establish contact. "That…" The guy back-peddled several paces back into the darkness of the alley until completely obscured.

"I know," he answered, breathless from exertion and wanting nothing but to dive headfirst after the other.

"I'm going," was the unnecessary comment.

He turned away to depart as well. "Don't miss me."

"You know I won't."

* * *

_**-fin-**_

* * *

_**Author's Notes:**__ Impressions, questions, ideas all welcome!_

_**Chapter Hints:**__ Law of conservation of energy. Effects of energy release and absorption. Electromagnetic forces._


	2. Residual

_**Author's Notes:**__ Romance + What-Next?_

_**Warnings: **__Badly formulated fantastical fanfiction of the yaoi, shounen-ai, slash, whatever-you-call-it nature. Cursing. Un-beta'd._

_**Pairing(s): **__IkeMarth._

_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own Super Smash Brothers._

_**Summary: **__A collection of one-shots in the genre of speculative fiction. Alternative universes in every sense of the term. –Yaoi, Slash: Ike/Marth-_

_**Chapter Inspiration: **__Organ harvesting and transplantation. He was learning everything about the world from scratch, so when he recognized someone he had never met before, he figured there was something more to his perfectly engineered brain._

* * *

Speculative Impromptu

_02. Residual_

By SSBBSwords

* * *

He was a teenager when he was born. The adults at the institute provided him with everything to guide his development.

Everything truly meant _everything._

When they realized he was waking to too much stimuli, they had kept him in REM-induced sleep until sufficient wiring had been established among the newly grafted regions of his brain.

It still felt like he was trying to swim out of a depthless amount of viscous liquid for some time before he could handle all the sensations at once without blacking out.

If it wasn't a security guard, trainer, teacher, or scientist, he was under lock and key and video camera.

Well, he didn't quite realize the latter until a few months into his now stabilized state of consciousness, but being raised in this world made him rather acquiescent to all conditions.

On one hand, it was rather scintillating to be able to grasp all academic material (no matter how dense or technical) oh-so-easily because his mental capacities were exponentially greater than anyone else's, thanks to the multiple transplantations of—really—the best of the best possible brain matter. To be quantitatively, linguistically, artistically, physically more able than _any_ person on the planet? Right. Scintillating.

On the other hand, why did everyone seem so surprised that he started to question everything?

_Everything._

"Are you my 'mom'?" he asked the ceiling of the MRI machine.

The voice of the woman to whom he woke up when he first stabilized came through the room's speakers with a mechanical twang. _"Ike, stay still."_

Would you believe he had chosen his own name? He had actually been attempting to communicate his inability to name the items pictured before him (_spoon, book, cat)_ and the _I-can't_ and _I-don't-know_ failed to formulate, just as frustratingly as knowing but being unable to find the words.

In a strange attempt to pacify him, the woman had changed topics and thus his stuttering _I-i-i… ccccc(an'tdon'tknow)_ somehow translated to _Ike._

"I _am_ still," he replied, almost petulantly, and knew deep down inside that he was acting like a toddler. Why, yes, he had finished an entire unit on child development just a few hours ago.

"_We'll talk about this later."_

Which was the end of that conversation.

Which was silly, because who was he supposed to ask about the subtle clamor in his head, about that tight feeling in his chest and throat when he thought of the idea of parents or siblings or a domestic household. He certainly had no shortage of people surrounding him daily, but something in his head told him otherwise. That this was different, and _family_ was a whole different… _thing._ That he was supposed to have.

Or needed to have.

Because he felt off. Very off.

"You are moody today," the woman observed a week later.

He grumbled incoherently, temperament souring as hours passed. He was supposed to be a budding genius, and he could not rectify this one issue? He knew he hadn't been manufactured in a test tube (although how pieces of his brain had been linked may be attributed to _some_ engineered tissue; but most of what was in his skull had belonged to previously _very-talented_ individuals); so he had been told.

Then came a day, which started like any other day, that something (make that some_one)_ caught his attention.

He was getting a tour of the research labs as part of his bioengineering curriculum when he spotted something that made him stop dead in his tracks. The professor paused and shot him a quizzical look. "Something the matter?"

He peeked closer through the glass window that led into an office, where a scientist had just turned back around after delivering a thick packet of data to another behind the desk. Without thinking much (beyond _Iknowhim. iKNOWhim. Him. Know. I. Know_), he strode in and after the guy.

Before he knew it, his hand was closing around a wrist. "I know you."

The shorter man looked around in surprise, but responded in a polite manner, "I'm sorry. I don't think we've met."

They hadn't. They have. Name? _What was his name?_

His professor appeared beside him, body language full of intrigue. Sure, Ike had taken up brooding as of late, but that still had not hampered any of his abilities. The wizened man glanced around the room, wondering just how good the facility's recording devices were or if he should take some notes where he stood.

"Dr. Carrel," the scientist began, "is this a new technician?"

"No, no," the professor responded in turn, stifling a laugh at the idea of a _perfectly engineered human_ standing in the research labs doing something as menial as rinsing glassware. "Dr. Lowell, this is Ike. He is taking my regenerative medicine course."

"Oh, pleased to meet you. Call me Marth." The (_whyareyou_) lab-coated (_beautiful?)_ man held out a hand, and Ike grasped it firmly and did not want to let go.

"I know you," he repeated, eyes darting all over the other's face and permanently (re-)ingraining the map into his (_many people's?)_ mind.

Dr. Marth Lowell simply smiled, pulling away from the constricting handshake with little indication of pain from what was likely a crushing grip. "We haven't, Ike."

"Come on, Ike," his professor insisted, steering his immobile form away from someone he _knew_ (he did!), and added, as if insult to injury, "If you leave Dr. Lowell to his work, maybe one day you won't have to take so many immunosuppressants."

At this, Ike was pulled out of the office and back into the hallway.

He was plagued with the image of Marth that day, night, next day, week, fortnight…

Because he _knew_ Marth. From where, when, how… he did not know. But he could, couldn't he?

It took him more than a month to break into his (_extensive_) medical files. Sure, he had all the theory behind computer programming and security, but it was another thing to figure out the application and then find the time when bogged down with the institute's expectations of him. Classes, extracurricular activities, testing… by the time he had redone the camera feeds and coding to cover his tracks and open such _classified_ material, he was spitting mad.

And he hadn't even read the dirty details yet.

His mind was a composite of thirty-seven different sources of brain tissue.

_What. The fuck._

And one of them _knew Marth._

* * *

_**-fin-**_

* * *

_**Author's Notes:**__ Impressions, questions, ideas all welcome!_

_**Chapter Hints:**__ Neuropsychology. Brain anatomy. Memory formation and retrieval._


	3. Iota-24

_**Author's Notes:**__ Wishing you a happy weekend, and special thanks to Histeria, Sekiun, and Draconis Kitten Sweetie for their support and encouragement!_

_**Warnings: **__Badly formulated fantastical fanfiction of the yaoi, shounen-ai, slash, whatever-you-call-it nature. Cursing. Un-beta'd._

_**Pairing(s): **__Ike/Marth_

_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own Super Smash Brothers._

_**Summary: **__A collection of one-shots (drabbles) in the genre of speculative fiction. Alternative universes in every sense of the term. –Yaoi, Slash: Ike/Marth-_

_**Chapter Inspiration: **__Manipulation and persuasion. It worked on everyone except the one who mattered. _

* * *

Speculative Impromptu

_03. Iota-24_

By SSBBSwords

* * *

πρινσ.

Ike once asked what the tattooed script at his hip stood for. He had smiled playfully and launched into a passionate story of college mathematics, science, and related variables. In return, his boyfriend brushed his lips against said symbols, called him a nerd, and then fully removed his pants for more important issues.

Two years later found the couple separated by tens of thousands of miles and a body of water or two. Ike in the military, and he… well, in a lesser known industry.

For someone who was supposed to be such a treasured asset to the organization, he sure was sent out into the field a lot.

Granted, he tended to complete his assignments with a minimum of kill implementations.

Tonight, dressed in a nondescript outfit of dark neutrals, contacts and wig included, he could blend straight into a crowd even with the effect of strobe lights from the dance floor.

He found the entire club atmosphere stifling and discomforting, but personal tastes failed to influence the reality of a perfect setup. He was here to be in and out in an instant, invisible and trackless.

It was unusual to be at these venues alone, much less get in as a single male, but he managed just fine. His options had been to sneak in through the side or back, but he was in no mood. He had gone straight up to the bouncer (_α-_δ, easy), and stated firmly, "_Δllow me into this estδblishment. Forget this exchδnge_."

So here he was. With a beer in hand, he studied his target, just across the bar in a booth, table full of hard liquor and glasses. Nothing screamed overcompensation like surrounding oneself with numerous scantily-clad women.

The longer he watched, the more he understood why he was called. The category was not obvious, which only made the detailing even less possible to grasp. And as skilled as he was in identifying someone's type, there were cases where he needed to ask some questions to finalize the label.

Was the guy just going to sit there and drink all night? He needed his target alone.

About twenty minutes later, a few women tottered out of their seats and headed for the restrooms. He was genuinely surprised to see one separate from the pack, but that just made his job easier.

"_Hθy_," he said, double-checking his intuition. He could see the transference in her eyes, so he continued by nonchalantly offering, "You're cute. Let me buy you a drink." She accepted automatically, as predicted of εs, and when her lips touched the rim of the glass, he smiled charmingly. "_Gθt him alonθ nθar thθ stairs._" He paused to gauge her reaction as appropriate, and then ended the very one-sided conversation as if he had just been flirting with her, "Call me."

She simultaneously turned away from him, her mind set on course, and his own set on disappearing from the current scene.

By the time the couple rounded the corner to the staircase, he had eliminated his target's possibilities down to _ο, _maybe _υ_, though unlikely.

The ε-_θ _woman had her fingers laced through the other's hair like they were about to engage in a very intimate act, but he smoothly stepped in by her ear, whispering, "L_θavθ. Gθt a taxi,_" and pressed cash into her hand. She ceased immediately and left without a backwards glance.

"What the fucking hell is your problem?" The man spat out, although still calm enough not to deck him. Maybe a _γ_?

"That was my sister," he responded with a deadpan expression, designed to not incite further anger. "My problem isn't you. Why did you do it?"

Looking no more than slightly irritated, the man shifted (a little drunkenly, he noticed) and coughed, "I don'know. 'Cause she was there."

_ο-λ,_ done.

"Listen, _yλu need to reserve a rλλm. I'm gλne in twλ minutes—_"

"Huh?" His target replied ineloquently, looking confused. Okay, perhaps the guy was more inebriated than he originally thought. That, and he was wrong about _ο-λ_.

Unless…perhaps he was on this case because…

"_Sλξrry._" He stopped and, with a touch more smugness than professionalism should allow, watched the man enter _tabula rasa_ like everyone else did_._ "_Nλξw, abλξut λξur privacy…_"

Exactly forty-five later, he was catching a five-hour flight back to his hometown in the dead of the night, information recorded like he had just conducted a nationwide interview. He honestly did not care about what he had just learned, much less what the organization was going to do with such freshly confiscated details.

It was 4:37 AM when he finally was able to crawl under the bed covers.

"Marth?"

He froze. Well, what did he expect? Ike was a terribly light sleeper. It had taken a couple weeks for Ike to even get used to differentiating Marth's movements around the house from, say, a suspected burglar. Then his boyfriend got deployed overseas, returned injured, and was about to leave again. Regardless, he rearranged himself to slide into the now-opened space against Ike's sturdy frame. "I'm sorry I woke you." He wrapped one arm around the other's waist.

He felt the muscles contract beneath him as Ike sat up and reached over to click on the bedside light. He winced at the sharp illumination.

"That's not it," the soldier replied with a squint that turned into a frown. "You okay? You cut your business trip short just to rush hom—"

Marth pushed himself up into a sit as well, surging forward and cutting the other off by solidly planting their lips together. Although stressed and tired from his trip, he felt himself relax just due to the familiarity of their bond, and he pulled back a millimeter to readjust before kissing Ike again.

"I appreciate this, really," Ike concluded his previous thought after he pulled away, "but I could just take the airport shuttle in the morning."

"No," he argued, his voice catching, which was precursor to a swelling of negative emotion. "I'll drive you."

Ike wrapped Marth into a tight hug that the smaller man wanted to squirm out of, simply out of spite, now that they were ankle-deep in a _discussion_. "You could sleep in," Ike reasoned.

None of this really was worth wasting breath, but worked up as he was getting, all that he managed to blurt out was, "I don't want you to go."

The real source of strife hung in the air, the elephant in the room, before Ike sighed aloud, picking up Marth's hand and running fingers across his knuckles and palm. "I'm going."

"_Dτn't gτ!_" Marth hissed, agitation tensing his muscles like he was ready to fight or flee. "I love you, _dτn't leave me._"

Expression grim and full of regret, Ike muttered, "I hate when you get like this."

Scowling, Marth looked away, redirecting his gaze to all breakable items in the room. "So you're leaving, because I'm _like this?_ I thought you_ lτve me._" _Love me,_ present tense. The mantra paraded in his mind, even as his mouth clamped shut.

Groaning in exasperation, his boyfriend massaged the area between his brows to relieve the pressure building there. "God, no, Marth. I'm saying I hate upsetting you _like this_." Ike vaguely gestured to him as a whole, not intentionally hurtful, but enough to make him bristle defensively.

"_I'm nτt upset._"

"You stutter like crazy when you're upset!" Ike snapped back in response, before reining his temper in with a self-deprecating grimace. "I'm sorry. I—well, you do, but…"

"What? But… what?" The urge to fight was slowly draining away as helplessness replaced it. Let it not be said that Marth hadn't already tried this before. Many times. Too many times.

It never worked.

"The stutter is cute, for someone as articulate as you," Ike admitted with a certain level of embarrassment. "I mean, I hate it because I know you're upset, but I like it too."

"It's not…" He did not know why he even started to explain himself, and decided to end rather dejectedly, "Okay." After a moment, he took a deep breath to re-establish his equilibrium and exhaled out softly, "I'm sorry. I'm cranky. Let's just go to sleep. I… you know… love you."

"I do know."

The room plunged back into darkness as the light was clicked off. Marth stared impassively at the ceiling. He had expected as much.

* * *

_**-fin-**_

* * *

_**Author's Notes:**__ Impressions, questions, ideas all welcome!_

_**Chapter Hints:**__ Weapons of influence, Machiavellian persuasion, prefrontal cortex activation._


	4. Knight

_**Author's Notes:**__ Superheroes without capes and tights. Did I really go there? Yes. _

_NOT ASHAMED. (yet)_

_**Warnings: **__Badly formulated fantastical fanfiction of the yaoi, shounen-ai, slash, whatever-you-call-it nature. Cursing. Un-beta'd._

_**Pairing(s): **__Ike/Marth_

_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own Super Smash Brothers._

_**Summary: **__A collection of one-shots (drabbles) in the genre of speculative fiction. Alternative universes in every sense of the term. –Yaoi, Slash: Ike/Marth-_

_**Chapter Inspiration: **__Neurological mutations and enhanced abilities. Aren't villains supposed to be either blindingly angry or batsh!t crazy? Perhaps this was a bad time to admit he seemed to have developed a thing for intelligent, smooth masterminds._

* * *

Speculative Impromptu

_04. Knight_

By SSBBSwords

* * *

He met Marth on an early spring day.

The sun had not even been up for more than fifteen minutes when the first string of detonations occurred at a nearby manufacturing facility.

Unlike the general public, he redirected his running toward the explosions, and when he arrived, the building was ablaze and smoking like a bonfire. Firemen and police officers on scene could only watch in awe as clear sabotage in the form of smaller bombs continued to go off, both ensuring the wreck of the infrastructure and prevention of intervention.

When a ground floor glass wall blew out, his body reacted as it did, yanking a nearby spectator out of the shrapnel's trajectory while simultaneously twisting around a few other wayward pieces. Really, everyone should probably back up more. The woman had been more than grateful, but he felt he accomplished nothing that would rival the outrageous destruction of something worth millions of dollars.

Later, after he had provided a witness statement and left the area to be investigated by field professionals, he was approached on the street by someone not exuding the top two emotions of that day (i.e. disbelief and thankfulness).

"Hello," the stranger said.

His first impression of the man before him was the composed and immaculate presence. The second was the bright, clear blue in what could only be described as inquisitive eyes.

"Hi," he greeted in return, eyebrow quirked in bemusement. He did not make a habit of being stopped by beautiful people.

"I heard you saved a number of civilians from disfigurement," the shorter man stated without prompting. The accompanying smile was more enigmatic than the complimentarily friendly.

"Er… what?" He was genuinely confused, and as much as he was enjoying the view before him, he also wanted to run away. What a dilemma. This man held himself with a dignified air that was only highlighted by amazing bone structure. The fuck? He usually wasn't this poetic.

A corner of the other's mouth lifted. "Already sensationalized by the media, then?" He was about to reply with _'Maybe?'_ or _'I don't know what you're talking about,'_ but the stranger looked away distractedly. "I left my table unattended. Come with."

He did.

And so they had lunch at the outdoor café where Marth reclaimed his previously vacated table.

Days later, he was still contemplating the occurrences of that day. Indications of the atypical happenings continued through the following weeks, as law enforcement and security divisions kept in contact with him in case they happened to run into any other significant discoveries. It was no inconvenience to his daily life, so he did not mind.

What kept him up at night was Marth.

They did not have a date, per se. They did not exchange phone numbers, addresses, or personal information. They made small talk, and he spent 95% of the time trying to be invisible under the other's intense gaze. It was like he was getting dissected by stare alone.

Whereas the first event seemed like an intentionally planned terrorist attack of unknown motives for now, the next was more like a freak accident. Some corroded second-floor balcony had succumbed to crack fatigue and collapsed under a child's weight.

So stated the report.

He had scaled the falling balcony edge, grabbed the child, and leapt for the neighboring balcony. He managed this all with just brushing the leaves of the neighbor's potted plants.

He should have considered the repercussions of his actions, but hey, they were more reflex-based, and he always thought those were automatic and subconscious. The worst results of his escapades were the negotiations with some government-run department of special assignments, something-or-other. The way he saw it, they were interested in using his physical abilities for nothing evil, so okay, maybe he could consider it. And there really were no consequences for being a local hero, the attention was the opposite of hateful, but he could not help feel endangered.

About half a block away, Marth had given him a nod of approval, before disappearing into the forming crowd.

He was not stupid. He was not so oblivious that he could not connect two and two together. So he was a little special, and Marth knew it. Hell, Marth might be a little special himself, if there was any sort of meaning beneath those calculating expressions of his.

He did not gather the sufficient amount of motivation to confront the elusive man until another warehouse in a nearby city was demolished during the night. To be exact, it was seeing a picture of Marth (among scores of others) as an individual possibly involved with the attack on these manufacturing facilities. Like a dozen other suspects, there was little information on the man, minus some general information like permanent address (nice neighborhood), public records (clean), and job (entrepreneur, he noted, but of what exactly?). His potential to be a suspect ran in the low double digits solely due to lack of evidence.

Which could likely be chalked up to sheer ingenuity, if anyone had ever really met the guy.

So on this lovely balmy summer night, he climbed up the fire escape into a suite on the forty-second floor and tumbled into a stand right through Marth's open sliding glass door.

For this time of night, he was surprised to see the other's lithe figure still dressed in a nice button-down-and-dress-pants outfit. Reading a book, of all things.

"Hello," Marth said, with an unchanged expression, as if people rolled into his room every time the clock struck twelve. Setting down the book and rising to his feet, the shorter man approached the intruder with no sense of alarm.

"Hi," he replied, mind reeling in a helpless pool of déjà vu.

He was the one who broke in (well, nothing was exactly _broken_), yet why did he feel like the prey and not the other way around?

That was when the odorless gas from the vent above him started to affect his senses. His vision darkened and he felt his balance skew. He wobbled.

A hand touched his shoulder.

"You'd better lie down," was the last thing he heard before blacking out completely.

* * *

_**-fin-**_

* * *

_**Author's Notes:**__ Impressions, questions, ideas all welcome!_

_**Chapter Hints:**__ Fixed neuromuscular pathways of motor control, posterior and anterior association areas of executive processing._


	5. Wiped

_**Author's Notes:**__ There's a first time for everything, and it's usually bad. There you go. Disclaimed._

_Debuting the most explicit piece I have ever posted in all of my fanfic-writing experience…_

_**Warnings: **__Badly formulated fantastical fanfiction of the yaoi, shounen-ai, slash, whatever-you-call-it nature. Cursing. Un-beta'd. __**Rated M, experimental writing style, **__and __**morally questionable. **__You might not want to read this, and if you do, don't come crying to me because your eyes are bleeding._

_**Pairing(s): **__IkexMarth_

_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own Super Smash Brothers._

_**Summary: **__A collection of one-shots (drabbles) in the genre of speculative fiction. Alternative universes in every sense of the term. –Yaoi, Slash: Ike/Marth-_

_**Chapter Inspiration: **__Sociopathy and thought reform. "Let go of me. I want nothing to do with you. I hate you." It was amazing what a huge sum of money could buy nowadays._

* * *

Speculative Impromptu

_05. Wiped_

By SSBBSwords

* * *

_**Let go of me.**_

* * *

It was 6:42 PM when Ike stepped out of the car, and he hesitated on the front steps of his house as the chauffeur drove away to the garage to park the vehicle. He inhaled slowly, deeply, but the buzzing in his head did not cease. It was the excitement, and it was like every nerve in him was fired up with pure adrenaline and nothing else. He reached for the door knob and his hand twitched indecisively.

His delivery should have arrived already. He exhaled as he inserted his key and unlocked the deadbolt. _Please be here._ In reality, arrival time should be the last thing on his mind. How well-weaved would his instructions be? Then again, this technology was apparently so effective that the company had guaranteed customer satisfaction.

When he gently eased open the door, he heard the rustle of newspaper from down the hall, likely from the living room, and his heart leapt into his throat. _Oh, god, they… did it_. His rate of breathing hiked, and he felt faint from anticipation.

As if summoned by whimsical thought, Marth appeared around the corner, looking _oh-so-expectant_ and so, so _happy._

_They really did it._ His mind was spinning in disbelief, and he must have looked pale (or maybe not, because that shouldn't have mattered if they really got it right), because Marth rushed toward him in a flurry of _concern_ and _attentiveness._

"Ike, baby," Marth said in a tone that Ike had yet to _ever _hear (at least directed at him), "What's wrong?" And then his hands were encircling Ike's face and running so _soothingly_ through his messy hair, and all he could think was, _Oh, my god, they really accomplished the impossible._

And it worked.

It really, really worked.

_Fuck. _And suddenly his body was surging toward the other, wrapping the smaller man in a crushing hug, and it was just as _wonderful_ and _fulfilling_ and _warming_ as he had always _imagined_, and it was even better because now he could feel Marth's slender body fit _so perfectly_ against his hips and torso.

* * *

_**I have nothing to say to you.**_

* * *

In turn, Marth gave a muffled chuckle against his rapidly-beating heart, and pianist fingers traced up the back of his suit like they were seeking something else. Marth locked eyes with him before _relaxing_ so much into their embrace that it was a wonder how anything could be less amazing.

"Such a bad day at work?" Marth questioned rhetorically, his head now tilted at an angle so he could lightly mouth Ike's collarbone. The shorter man's hands were snaking back to Ike's front, hovering around his waistline, but Marth forwent the belt in order to undo the blazer's buttons with _automatic_ dexterity.

Ike swallowed audibly, and Marth simply smiled at him like he was the most adorable thing to ever _exist_ and brought his hands up the toned planes of Ike's abdomen, up around his shoulders to remove the jacket, as if he had done this a thousand times (but he hadn't, so Ike continued to be awed by the power of technology).

"It…" Ike wondered if making conversation would somehow break the spell, and figured if this was going to be the rest of his life, he might as well get accustomed to it _fast,_ because the months he spent _pining_ weren't coming back, and this was _now_ (and it was _great_). "It's getting better," he murmured, as casually as he could.

Amusement shone in Marth's eyes, and the only response Ike received that indicated Marth was even listening was an even slyer smile. Then he felt his tie being pulled undone, because all Marth wanted was to divest him of clothing, and he had _no arguments_ that could have held up against that.

"Oh…" And Ike likened the sound that Marth made to something _wicked _that came this way, because it made his blood rush south, and Marth _knew, _because he further teased, "Are you referring to me?" And then Marth's lips were seeking his, and all he could focus on now was that it was _soft_ and a little _wet_ and that their mouths were opening to each other like they had done this _all their lives._

* * *

_**I want nothing to do with you.**_

* * *

"Maybe…" Ike pulled away long enough before the dizzying _need_ to reconnect compelled him back toward Marth, who was all too willing to receive him. "Maybe we should go to bed."

Marth sighed, all signs pointing to pure _contentment_, but his words ended up the complete _opposite_, because he spoke against Ike's lips like he belonged there (_and he did_), "It's so _early._" He was pushing his body against Ike's so insistently that Ike now found himself against the front door. He never did get very far into his house after all, he realized.

Then Ike also noticed the other's hands pulling his shirt out from where it had been properly tucked into his pants (probably the only proper thing in this entire situation), and for the sake of comfort, Ike just brought Marth down to the ground with him so they could make out in luxury without worrying about falling down.

Marth hummed in approval of the new position, and straddled Ike's lap, very sure that this was _where he wanted to be_, and began his work on Ike's ear and neck as his hands simultaneously felt out how to remove Ike's shirt, whereas the tie had fallen off one shoulder at some point.

Ike was not sure if it was the rhythmic breath, graze of lips, teeth, or tongue against the cartilage of his ear or if it was Marth _rocking_ their pelvises together that made him see only waves and stars or something so _surreal_, but his hands found the curve of Marth's ass, and he just gripped it and pushed his hips back against the building friction because that was what _made the world right._

And all Marth did in return was drop into the movement and cease his ministrations on Ike's ear to moan plaintively against his neck. He seemingly decided that having Ike's shirt unbuttoned was sufficient, and really, it was time to work on his pants, but that meant they had to stop rutting against each other, and that would just be a damn shame. Ah, but the prospective light at the end of the tunnel was so much more _promising._

* * *

_**You don't own me.**_

* * *

Marth's back lost its arch against his hands and hips as the shorter man shifted away, leaving Ike to instantly regret the loss of delicious pressure against his erection. Then one of those pretty hands ended up palming him through the fabric of his pants, and his gasps turned into a low groan. His forehead dropped against Marth's shoulder, and he shuddered as the other squeezed.

"Are we…" He barely managed any more words and it all trailed off, because he felt like he wanted to _explode_ and _drown_ and _die in the other's arms_.

Marth shushed him, and if he had bothered to look, he would have seen the blatant _what-do-you-think?_ expression on the other's face. Unfortunately, Marth found himself having to stop in order to free Ike from the confines—button, zipper, briefs—in order to proceed to the activity he really _wanted._

This was when Ike noticed that the _object of his adorations_ was_ so inappropriately_ dressed. Dressed. Should be _undressed._ He was about to rip the other's fitted sweater off, but instead got his act together long enough to pull it over Marth's head by the bottom edges and then fuss with the pants, because let's be _honest_ here, how could he spread Marth open like he wanted if the pants stayed on?

Eyes bright and glassy, Marth went along with Ike's motions, and when he was completely naked and under Ike's scrutiny, he looked more _hungry_ and _desperate_ than anything else. "Ike," he panted out, one hand on Ike's shoulder and the other fisted against the floor, legs sprawled on the outside of Ike's. "_Take me._"

And Ike nearly lost it at those words, because today was the day where his wet dreams were _coming true_ and all he ever wanted to do was make Marth his and now he had that opportunity for the rest of his life to _fuck_ this man because he _had the right _and the _permission _and the _urge._

But there was that nagging feeling, and Ike went a bit nonchalant in his touching, causing Marth to squirm in need against his body. "What?" Ike asked, feigning incomprehension of Marth's request, because all he wanted was to hear that level of entreaty out of Marth's mouth, _over _and _over_ again.

"_Make me yours._" Marth was begging now, grinding hard against him and it _almost_ made him stop acting, but then Marth had to say, "_Fuck me._"

* * *

_**I hate you.**_

* * *

Who could say no to an _invitation_ like _that?_ Ike growled, a sound that reverberated throughout his chest, and he drew Marth closer. His fingers traversed the valley of the other's lower back as Marth returned to kissing him open-mouthed and inciting more distraction than Ike could handle when attempting to find such a specialized destination.

When he did, he learned just how flawlessly Marth was _prepared_, because his hole was _pliant_ and _slick_ and _yielding_ to his fingers like it was meant to be filled.

"Ike…" Marth breathed heavily, as fingers were curiously mapping his insides. "_Come on,"_ he goaded, pushing back against Ike's fingers with obvious meaning of readiness. "_I need you."_ His voice was drifting off as the need to breathe cut short any other thoughts beyond, "_Need you so much…"_

And in a scrabble of fumbling motions, as they both tried to reach for same and different things to correctly align, Ike was pushing up into Marth like the latter was pushing down, _open_ and _stretched_ and _tight_ around Ike, making him go breathless and a bit woozy, because this was _all he ever wanted_, and then some. He may have gone teary-eyed, because he felt _so good_ and the pleasure was _fucking up his mind_, and he blurted out, "I love you."

Marth made a sound, a cross between a whine and moan, and it took on some sort of mewling quality, because he was _filled_ and he looked _wrecked_, like he had wanted this for a _long, long time._ He was pressing himself up and down, knees likely to be very sore in the future, and becoming erratic in movement, maybe because he was doing most of the work, because Ike was too busy being _awestruck_ at this image. Unhinged, Marth began to babble, as if hoping to jumpstart something in Ike. "Oh, my god, yes. Yes. MOVE. Please. Move._ I need… I… love, love you. LOVE you…!"_

Which may be the smartest read he made on Ike, because _finally_, the taller man pushed back as if retaliating, rearranging his taller body so that he could get better leverage to fuck up and into Marth. At the angle change, Marth nearly sobbed in _relief_ because _oh, god, it felt so good._ He didn't so much arch as he contracted, because his lower muscles were all tightening and he could feel _bliss _and _release_ approaching like a barreling train.

* * *

_**There is nothing in this world that could make me love you.**_

* * *

Ike was reveling at the sounds of skin slipping and sliding in and out and against and everything in between. There was still part of him thinking this was all a hallucination—a _beautiful, warped_, _grand _delusion—and this was perhaps the only thing keeping him from _losing it_, because sooner than he would have guessed (and he supposed it couldn't have been more impeccably timed), Marth's hold was digging into his biceps to the point of pain, and the _clenching, pulsating_ sensation around his dick made him forget everything but _Marth._

He couldn't help but raptly watch the other _unravel_ and ride out an orgasm, because it was _cathartic_ and _revealing_ and _oh-so-intimate_, because everything seemed to be seizing and releasing and moving uncontrollably with a _wracking force_, and even though his chest now was dotted messily with ejaculate, it was all worth watching Marth tremble into and down from such a_ high._

Ike maintained his thrusts throughout this process, and really only managed a couple more before he himself hit his threshold, mainly because he finally let himself _fall_, and because he really couldn't help it when Marth purposely clamped down around him, even while dealing with the sensitivity that was post-orgasm. Ike's vision narrowed, as if all his senses decided to shut down for a moment, when he came, and it took another minute for the world to rush back into his awareness.

They stayed connected, and when Ike trailed a hand down Marth's front and paused at the apex of his thighs, he could both see and feel the twitch of the other's muscles beneath his palm. He absently smeared the white substance against the other's skin, just because he could.

Marth exhaled softly, eyes closed. He opened them as he leaned forward to rest their sweaty foreheads together. "Feeling better, baby?"

Instead of answering (because really, how could anyone not feel better after a round of that?_)_, Ike put some distance between their faces and asked rather abruptly, "Are you happy?"

Expression morphing into genuine confusion, Marth stated candidly, "Of course. You_ give me everything. I'm yours..._"

"You don't," and here Ike faltered and swallowed as if that feeling of creeping guilt would suddenly disappear, "hate me?"

At this, Marth laughed, finding all of this rather ridiculous, because they were _so deeply in love_ with each other_,_ how was this even a legitimate question? "Ike, _I love you. _Why _in the world _would you ask me that?"

Ike bit his lip, pulling Marth back into a hug, and muttered into the back of the other's neck, "But what if you did?"

Marth laced his fingers through Ike's spikes and considered the other's strange, hypothetical scenario. He arrived at an answer so effortlessly, it was almost unnatural. Smiling affectionately, Marth replied, "You'd _make me love you_ again."

* * *

_**-fin-**_

* * *

_**Author's Notes:**__ Impressions, questions, ideas all welcome!_

_**Chapter Hints:**__ Theodore Millon's ASPD subtype 'covetous,' Computational theory of mind, Suprachiasmatic nucleus in the hypothalamus_


End file.
